The Mirror of Narciss
by the rosenthal-effect
Summary: Recognizing oneself in a mirror is a proof for intelligence and self-consciousness. Loving oneself in a mirror is called narcissm. One dare say Lucius Malfoy is all of the above. But will he die forgetting the world around him upon the sight of himself like the greek half-god Narciss did?
1. Chapter 1

A shy knock came from the door. It sprang open upon a dismissive gesture of his hand. Sitting with his back to the door, he did not see the slender feminine form clad in a furry cloak with matching hat and boots. He saw neither the hurt expression on her face nor the travel bag she carried.

"Narcissa, what do you want?" , he sounded annoyed. Of course, this was his study; he had work to do. "You are asking what I want?", she huffed indignantly, "I want nothing of you anymore. You are so full of yourself; it makes me sick. May you experience this same sickness someday. I'm leaving Lucius and I will take Draco with me"

She waited a moment, secretly hoping that he would miraculously turn around and beg for her to stay, promise betterment but he did no such thing. Well; he turned around but his words were full of disgust and hatred: "So, you are leaving me? Then get the hell out of my house and remove this monster from my life!"

His words were lost on the empty door frame, his wards informing him that she had just apparated. With her his fury had vanished, leaving him in shock of what had just happened. She had left him. _She has left you. She left me. She..._ His thoughts were chasing one another. Two decades of marriage and here he was alone, with no apt heir to all the materialism around him. No one who cared for him. He felt empty.

Mechanically his hands wandered to the heavy desks drawer and pulled out a bottle of fire-whiskey. Forgoing a glass, he took a swig from the bottle. The smokey aroma burnt down his throat. It had been a while that he had tasted whiskey. Usually he preferred wine. This situation however, called for a stronger beverage.

He had suspected that she was cheating on him for a while now. Ever since the war she was tiptoeing around him, not to be found at the house for hours without leaving a note. Defending the shame of what had once been his spouse. The hut in the darkest corner of the grounds with its heavy wards and fences was built on her insistence. Killing the danger to himself and others was the preferred solution of Lucius to the 'werewolf-problem'. He could not view this foul creature as Draco. His son had died when Fenrir Greyback had bitten him. And that was the official story.

Now there would be no traces of the bodies remnants. Narcissa had to make an unbreakable vow to him, as had this monster. Once they revealed him, both would be dead. A grim smile played around his lips. Yes, he had known it all along and patted himself on his shoulder for his foresight. The marriage contract between him and Narcissa would ensure that she got nothing of his and pay for her mistake. The wolf would never be linked with him again, Severus potions heritage had done wonders. The creature was unrecognizable. He had prepared and cleaned up nicely. He did not need these parasites. They had needed him.

In fact Narcissas departure opened new doors: as pretty as the witch admittedly was, she was uncapable of bearing another child for him, leaving him without a heir. Now that she had discredited herself, he was free to find himself a new witch more befitting for him and his needs. He stoppered the bottle not having drunk another sip after the initial one. Enough of his musing. There was no use in wasting thoughts to her. It was time to celebrate this new beginning...


	2. Chapter 2

An icy wind chased through Londons streets hurling thick snowflakes at whoever dared to be outside in this dark November night. Despite the hostile weather the Copper Alley was full of people. Small bars and restaurants shed their golden lights on the name giving reddish cobblestones, still warm enough to melt the snowflakes into a glittering sheen of water. Light strings twinkled above the crowds. Young witches and wizards alike dressed in the latest fashion moved towards the one huge building at the alleys dead end.

The 'Mirage' was the most popular night club in London to those with high standards. It was an old theatre and the former structure of its terraces and pulpits as well as the huge stage had been kept. While looking its part as a theatre from the outside, the clubrooms were a wholly different matter.

Lucius made his way from the apparition point over to the entrance. A member of the security staff recognized him immediately and led him directly to one of the VIP lounges in a pulpit. _O_ _wning the place is paying off,_ Lucius thought with a glance at the enormous cue.

He sat down in one of the black leather arm chairs, when a waitress brought him his favourite drink. "William Chase Gin, no tonic water, Mr. Malfoy. Can I get you something else?" The petite witch politely smiled at him, holding the black tablet like a shield before her midst. Disparagingly he looked at her tight fitting blue cocktail dress; the waitresses' uniforms.

"No, you can leave. But stay around should I reconsider" he drawled. The small woman nodded, nearly bowing and hastily made her way to the back room. Sipping the rather expensive gin he glanced over the balcony watching the dancing crowd in front of the stage.

A DJ was standing on it, levitating CDs around his head and every now and then touching one to turn on another song. Acoustic charms however, prevented the music to reach Lucius ear. Inside the lounge his own music played from boxes hidden behind the furnishing.

He scanned the crowd for some worthwhile guests to invite to his private lounge. Several young woman could hardly be described as dressed, looking cheap despite the undoubtedly expensive shreds of cloth upon them.

A man stepped into his lookout and followed his gaze to an exstatic witch in a sinfully short red dress. "What brings you here, old friend?", his tenor rumbled. Lucius looked at Rabastan Lestrange.

The younger man had proven to be just as vindictive as him, when it came to the trials following the end of the war. He had shown up in his office and humbly declared his admiration for his work and person. In the next step he had asked, if there was a possibility to join him. Lucius had considered for a while, before accepting the apply. Rabastan had become his right hand in the mean time.

"A new beginning", came his late reply.


	3. Chapter 3

The dance floor was crammed full; it was hot and the air tasted stale in a mix of perfumes and sweat. Women were following the two handsome wizards with their eyes, their hunger for their attention and power barely concealed. Lucius felt that despite being the older man of them, most of the eyes were trained upon him. Checking him out, mentally undressing him. Well, these woman never would.

Rabastan handed him another drink when they reached the bar. Smelling the vodka inside he scowled at him. The mischievous grin he got in response wasn't lost on the women around them. A curvy blonde made her way over to them. "Are you sure this is the right place for your interests?" Rabastan seemed playful but Lucius heard genuine concern in his voice. He had picked the Mirage for its popularity in the wizarding society. But Rabastan was right, this was not the kind of society he was looking for. "No, this is not the right place. But it is a start. I met you here and I am sure you can show me the real exclusive places", he felt uncomfortable admitting that clearly Rabastan was better informed about the wizarding nightlife. It made him feel old. Deliberately turning his back to the woman getting closer and closer he watched Rabastans face contort in concentration as he mentally went through the various establishments he knew. "You want discretion to enjoy your freedom or are you looking for something serious?" , he finally asked. Lucius smirked wickedly. "A bit of both"

"Then I know just the place. Come along. You will not have heard any of it" Lucius heard the younger wizard mutter something indistinguishable and saw a paper bird fly into his palm. He unfolded it and looked at the spiky letters in an all too familiar handwriting. Not really reading what was on the note he narrowed his eyes on Rabastan. "What is the meaning of this?", he inquired icily. "Read it. He will explain later. I can't talk to you beforehand". He sounded solemn and honest.

Reluctantly Lucius lowered his gaze to read the one sentence in the blackest of all available and unavailable inks. He knew it all too well, since it had been him to gift the author of the note with the hint to find it.

》The Iceberg Lounge is at Mulberry Street 7, Muggle London. 《


	4. Chapter 4

How he came up with the ridiculous name, derived from a muggle comic strip, he didn't know anymore. The irony behind copying from 'Batman' however, was not lost to him. He knew all of his many names and titles and knew even better how to play them. Inside his establishment he was known as the owner. When people spoke about him they rarely knew who he was, having never seen the dark clad and masked figure observing the Lounge from a balcony every now and then up close. He kept his anonymity - it was his life insurance in more than one way.

Although he was not too proud of the inspiration for his establishment, he mentally congratulated himself for the feat of running the most successfull underground organization. It was not exactly illegal what he was doing - but it wasn't explicitly legal either. People clung to their anonymity and he was complying to their wishes. In a relatively short time he had branches in the trade of magical artifacts, potions, supplies and social occupations. While it had been the potions that brought in the most money first, this - his interpretion of the Iceberg Lounge - earned him influence. So it was not as confusing as it once would have been, that he, abhorring people, was once again upon his balcony, studying the groups of well known Purebloods, politicians and managers chatting upon their drinks.

The waiters and waitresses clad in dark blue suits were carrying trays and plates through the Lounge giving it the appearance of an ants nest. They were his eyes and ears. Of course his visitors had no clue that they were spied on - that was the point of it. Like a spider in a web he sat in his elevated position, all information finding its way into the centre of his web; the huge name giving iceberg. The coloss reached to the ceighling, several floors high. It filled most of the attrium, the bar carved into its foot, built around it like a fence. It was made of real ice and a blueish glow emanated from within. Only few were allowed to come inside, to visit him in his frosty office. He had come to embrace the cold. The cold was what had saved his life not too long ago. The Iceberg Lounge seemed like a tribute.

Lost in thoughts about a time that he was another man, living a life for others, denying himself, he first did not see the white blond wizard purposefully striding in his direction.


End file.
